Creative Juices Quotes

The greatest feminists have also been the greatest lovers. I'm thinking not only of Mary Wollstonecraft and her daughter Mary Shelley, but of Anais Nin, Edna St. Vincent Millay, and of course Sappho. You cannot divide creative juices from human juices. And as long as juicy women are equated with bad women, we will err on the side of being bad.

On writing, my advice is the same to all. If you want to be a writer, write. Write and write and write. If you stop, start again. Save everything that you write. If you feel blocked, write through it until you feel your creative juices flowing again. Write. Writing is what makes a writer, nothing more and nothing less. --- Ignore critics. Critics are a dime a dozen. Anybody can be a critic. Writers are priceless. ---- Go where the pleasure is in your writing. Go where the pain is. Write the book you would like to read. Write the book you have been trying to find but have not found. But write. And remember, there are no rules for our profession. Ignore rules. Ignore what I say here if it doesn't help you. Do it your own way. --- Every writer knows fear and discouragement. Just write. --- The world is crying for new writing. It is crying for fresh and original voices and new characters and new stories. If you won't write the classics of tomorrow, well, we will not have any. Good luck.

When life gives you lemons ask it for sugar and water too. Otherwise your final product would be some acidic lemon juice!

I didn’t need one so pissed at his ex-wife he’d make me fall in love with him before apologizing for leading me on. He wanted to hurt women, and nothing froze my creative juices like heartache.

My creative juices only flow freely in the dark. My mind is like a mushroom: if you shine the light of the one true church on it, well then, inspiration may not spore at all.

[T]he success of every novel -- if it's a novel of action -- depends on the high spots. The thing to do is to say to yourself, "What are my big scenes?" and then get every drop of juice out of them." (Interview, The Paris Review, Issue 64, Winter 1975)

DeathWish: You spent some time working with Courtney Love and Billy Corgan on a creative level, how did this experience help your growth as an artist? EA: It didn't -- it stunted it entirely. I gave up over a year of my life and career helping Billy with his flop of an album and designing and building all of the costumes for his music video. With Courtney, we were friends, but I spent years working to record and promote her flop of an album only to find that my value increased every time I peed in an orange juice bottle so that she could fake her way through a drug test. Not exactly a haven for artistic growth.

It's difficult to get your creative juices flowing if you're always being practical, following rules, afraid to make mistakes, not looking into outside areas, or under the influence of any of the other mental locks.

but the creative juices dry up if they're not kept in circulation.

Find your myth. As Joseph Campbell observed, "Myth is the secret opening through which the inexhaustible energies of the cosmos pour into human cultural manifestation.' A myth we requicken in our minds and our lives brings creative juice, for every living myth "bears within it, undamaged, the seed power of its source.

We must take advantage of those moments of wonder-- those moments that stir up the creative juices, that foster belief and faith-- to re-imagine what is possible in ourselves, in our lives, in our world. And then we must make use of all that beautiful renewed energy, all that hope and determination-- to move, to effect change.

Own your creativity. You are creative with the same juice that flows in all of life. The question is not whether you are creative enough but whether you will free yourself to express it.

You will know what steps to take to move up in your life, what to do when conflict develops, and most important, how to get back on course when you feel yourself slipping. You will find your career advancing to the next level, you will get your most creative juices flowing, you will forever alter the way you raise your children and treat your spouse and give back to your community. And you will do all these things not because you feel you ought to, but because you choose, because you want to, because you're ready to push yourself to the limits of your abilities, to defy the naysayers and ultimately to feel that bone-deep of satisfaction that you lived life to its fullest.

Breakfast! My favorite meal- and you can be so creative. I think of bowls of sparkling berries and fresh cream, baskets of Popovers and freshly squeezed orange juice, thick country bacon, hot maple syrup, panckes and French toast - even the nutty flavor of Irish oatmeal with brown sugar and cream. Breaksfast is the place I splurge with calories, then I spend the rest of the day getting them off! I love to use my prettiest table settings - crocheted placemats with lace-edged napkins and old hammered silver. And whether you are inside in front of a fire, candles burning brightly on a wintery day - or outside on a patio enjoying the morning sun - whether you are having a group of friends and family, a quiet little brunch for two, or an even quieter little brunch just for yourself, breakfast can set the mood and pace of the whole day. And Sunday is my day. Sometimes I think we get caught up in the hectic happenings of the weeks and months and we forget to take time out to relax. So one Sunday morning I decided to do things differently - now it's gotten to be a sort of ritual! This is what I do: at around 8:30 am I pull myself from my warm cocoon, fluff up the pillows and blankets and put some classical music on the stereo. Then I'm off to the kitchen, where I very calmly (so as not to wake myself up too much!) prepare my breakfast, seomthing extra nice - last week I had fresh pineapple slices wrapped in bacon and broiled, a warm croissant, hot chocolate with marshmallows and orange juice. I put it all on a tray with a cloth napkin, my book-of-the-moment and the "Travel" section of the Boston Globe and take it back to bed with me. There I spend the next two hours reading, eating and dreaming while the snowflakes swirl through the treetops outside my bedroom window. The inspiring music of Back or Vivaldi adds an exquisite elegance to the otherwise unruly scene, and I am in heaven. I found time to get in touch with myself and my life and i think this just might be a necessity! Please try it for yourself, and someone you love.

Hello? Do you see me? I'm working as creatively as possible and you want more and more and I'm out of juice and if you send me one more email I'm going to walk into the ocean and swallow water.

What is it that teaching kills? The juice, the sap - the substance of revelation: by making even the insoluble questions & multiple possible answers take on the granite assured stance of dogma. It does not kill this quick of life in students who come, each year, fresh, quick, to be awakened & pass on - but it kills the quick in me by forcing to formula the great visions, the great collocations and cadences of words and meanings. The good teacher, the proper teacher, must be everliving in faith and ever-renewed in creative energy to keep the sap packed in herself, himself, as well as the work. I do not have the energy, or will to use the energy I have, and it would take all, to keep this flame alive.

Let the juices that are stirred into new life flow at this creative bloodletting of our artistic beings. (Zoltan Galos)

Stories of absurd events in life get my creative juices flowing and have so far given birth to some of my best ideas.

When your roots are receiving nourishment from the earth in the first chakra, your creative juices are flowing in the second, your intentions are empowered in the third, your heart is open and exchanging love with those around you in the fourth, you are spontaneously expressing your highest self in the fifth, and you are in touch with your inner voice in the sixth, then energy moves into the crown chakra and you remember your essential nature as infinite and unbounded. The thousand-petaled lotus flower unfolds and you know yourself as a spiritual being temporarily localized to a body and mind.

On writing, my advice is the same to all. If you want to be a writer, write. Write and write and write. If you stop, start again. Save everything that you write. If you feel blocked, write through it until you feel your creative juices flowing again. Write. Writing is what makes a writer, nothing more and nothing less. — Ignore critics. Critics are a dime a dozen. Anybody can be a critic. Writers are priceless. — Go where the pleasure is in your writing. Go where the pain is. Write the book you would like to read. Write the book you have been trying to find but have not found. But write. And remember, there are no rules for our profession. Ignore rules. Ignore what I say here if it doesn’t help you. Do it your own way. — Every writer knows fear and discouragement. Just write. — The world is crying for new writing. It is crying for fresh and original voices and new characters and new stories. If you won’t write the classics of tomorrow, well, we will not have any. Good luck.

Music is exquisite and requisite. It is the creative juice that greases the machinery for insight and serendipity. It unlocks the right brain, opening a door to novel domains. It constructs neural networks and fosters pattern recognition. It trains willpower and discipline. Playing music builds a bigger and better highway between the two sides of the brain. Its myelinated interconnectivity nurtures out-of-the-box thinking and simulates meditation and flow. Like dreaming, it allows our powerful unconscious mind to sift and filter all the accumulated detritus into a meaningful story.

I’ve always said that toking up expands your mind and gets the creative juices flowing and Barack proved me right. After a few hours of simmering in our fumes and cracking up at a VHS of Barbarella, he turns to me and says, “What if we just fucking sent in some helicopters into Pakistan?” I said, “Without permission? That’s either the craziest thing I ever heard or the most genius.” Barack starts laughing and says “Crazy like a fox!” and orders the choppers in. And that’s how we killed bin Laden. Later that night we ordered a Pad Thai Pizza from this place called Big Billy’s, and that was just as awesome as it sounds. Yeah, Barack’s a pretty good guy.

Even if you’re not as illiberal as Nietzsche, you might be worried if Nietzsche’s right that certain kinds of traditional moral values are incompatible with the existence of people like Beethoven. That’s the strong psychological [psycho-physiological] claim he makes – that you can’t really be a creative genius like Beethoven and take morality seriously. I think even good old democratic egalitarian liberals could worry a bit about that, if it were true. It’s a very striking and pessimistic challenge, because the liberal post-Enlightenment vision is that we can have our liberal democratic egalitarian ethos and everyone will be able to flourish. Nietzsche thinks there’s a profound tension between the values that traditional morality holds up and the conditions necessary for creative genius. [...] The illiberal attitudes and the elitism was really central to the way he looked at things. The suffering of mankind at large was not a significant ethical concern in his view, it was largely a matter of indifference – in fact it was to be welcomed because there’s nothing better than a good dose of suffering to get the creative juices flowing.

Cooking was creative, but also a quotidian process of transformation, central to Vivekananda's maternal relationship to his disciples. He bragged to his Bengali friends about his culinary prowess: 'Last night I made a dish. It was such a delicious mixture of saffron, lavender, mace, nutmeg, cubebs [a java pepper with a tang of allspice], cinnamon, cloves, cardamom, cream, lime juice, onions, raisins, almonds, peppers, and rice ....' He adored spices, but also loved sweetness, as the ingredients to this recipe suggests. In California, he taught his disciples to make rock candy, which he boiled and boiled to ensure its purity. For him, it symbolized the sweetness vital to his spiritual lessons.

When was the last time you made something that someone wasn’t paying you for, and looking over your shoulder to make sure you got it right?” When I ask creatives this question, the answer that comes back all too often is, “I can’t remember.” It’s so easy for creativity to become a means to a very practical end—earning a paycheck and pleasing your client or manager. But that type of work only uses a small spectrum of your abilities. To truly excel, you must also continue to create for the most important audience of all: yourself. In her book The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron discusses a now well-known practice that she calls “morning pages.” She suggests writing three pages of free-flowing thought first thing in the morning as a way to explore latent ideas, break through the voice of the censor in your head, and get your creative juices flowing. While there is nothing immediately practical or efficient about the exercise, Cameron argues that it’s been the key to unlocking brilliant insights for the many people who have adopted it as a ritual. I’ve seen similar benefits of this kind of “Unnecessary Creation” in the lives of creative professionals across the board. From gardening to painting with watercolors to chipping away at the next great American novel on your weekends, something about engaging in the creative act on our own terms seems to unleash latent passions and insights. I believe Unnecessary Creation is essential for anyone who works with his or her mind.

LEADING LESSONS Free yourself to have bad ideas. Whenever I try to think of a brilliant new dance routine, it usually falls flat on its face. It’s crushed by the weight of my own expectations for brilliance. It’s much more fruitful to follow the advice of the songwriter who said, “When you write new songs, write for the trash can.” When I start choreographing a new dance, I don’t care how bad the idea is, and I allow myself to run with it. Challenge yourself to think of five awful, terrible, of-my-God-this-stinks ideas. They get the juices flowing. And when you have those five, at the very least you have creative momentum and, more often than not, some of those ideas have legs. Think about the one thing that’s original to you and no one else. What’s your unique voice? Find that voice and shout with it.

How I Got That Name Marilyn Chin an essay on assimilation I am Marilyn Mei Ling Chin Oh, how I love the resoluteness of that first person singular followed by that stalwart indicative of “be," without the uncertain i-n-g of “becoming.” Of course, the name had been changed somewhere between Angel Island and the sea, when my father the paperson in the late 1950s obsessed with a bombshell blond transliterated “Mei Ling” to “Marilyn.” And nobody dared question his initial impulse—for we all know lust drove men to greatness, not goodness, not decency. And there I was, a wayward pink baby, named after some tragic white woman swollen with gin and Nembutal. My mother couldn’t pronounce the “r.” She dubbed me “Numba one female offshoot” for brevity: henceforth, she will live and die in sublime ignorance, flanked by loving children and the “kitchen deity.” While my father dithers, a tomcat in Hong Kong trash— a gambler, a petty thug, who bought a chain of chopsuey joints in Piss River, Oregon, with bootlegged Gucci cash. Nobody dared question his integrity given his nice, devout daughters and his bright, industrious sons as if filial piety were the standard by which all earthly men are measured. * Oh, how trustworthy our daughters, how thrifty our sons! How we’ve managed to fool the experts in education, statistic and demography— We’re not very creative but not adverse to rote-learning. Indeed, they can use us. But the “Model Minority” is a tease. We know you are watching now, so we refuse to give you any! Oh, bamboo shoots, bamboo shoots! The further west we go, we’ll hit east; the deeper down we dig, we’ll find China. History has turned its stomach on a black polluted beach— where life doesn’t hinge on that red, red wheelbarrow, but whether or not our new lover in the final episode of “Santa Barbara” will lean over a scented candle and call us a “bitch.” Oh God, where have we gone wrong? We have no inner resources! * Then, one redolent spring morning the Great Patriarch Chin peered down from his kiosk in heaven and saw that his descendants were ugly. One had a squarish head and a nose without a bridge Another’s profile—long and knobbed as a gourd. A third, the sad, brutish one may never, never marry. And I, his least favorite— “not quite boiled, not quite cooked," a plump pomfret simmering in my juices— too listless to fight for my people’s destiny. “To kill without resistance is not slaughter” says the proverb. So, I wait for imminent death. The fact that this death is also metaphorical is testament to my lethargy. * So here lies Marilyn Mei Ling Chin, married once, twice to so-and-so, a Lee and a Wong, granddaughter of Jack “the patriarch” and the brooding Suilin Fong, daughter of the virtuous Yuet Kuen Wong and G.G. Chin the infamous, sister of a dozen, cousin of a million, survived by everbody and forgotten by all. She was neither black nor white, neither cherished nor vanquished, just another squatter in her own bamboo grove minding her poetry— when one day heaven was unmerciful, and a chasm opened where she stood. Like the jowls of a mighty white whale, or the jaws of a metaphysical Godzilla, it swallowed her whole. She did not flinch nor writhe, nor fret about the afterlife, but stayed! Solid as wood, happily a little gnawed, tattered, mesmerized by all that was lavished upon her and all that was taken away!

this thing—his thing—still well and alive inside me. # I dreamed of clawed hooks and sexual abandon. Faces covered in leather masks and eyeliner so dark I could only see black. Here the monsters would come alive, but not the kind you have come to expect. I watched myself as if I were outside my own flesh, free from the imprisonment of bone and conscience. Swollen belly stretch-marked and ugly; my hair tethered and my skin vulnerable. Earthquake beats blared from the DJ booth as terrible looking bodies thrashed, moshed and convulsed. Alone, so alone. Peter definitely gone, no more tears left but the ones that were to come from agony. She was above me again, Dark Princess, raging beauty queen, and I was hers to control. The ultimate succession into human suspension. Like I’d already learned: the body is the final canvas. There is no difference between love and pain. They are the same hopeless obsession. The hooks dived, my legs opened and my back arched. Blood misted my face; pussy juice slicked my inner thigh as my water suddenly broke. # The next night I had to get to the club. 4 A.M. is a time that never lets me down; it knows why I have nightmares, and why I want to suspend myself above them. L train lunacies berated me once again, but this time I noticed the people as if under a different light. They were all rather sad, gaunt and bleary. Their faces were to be pitied and their hands kept shaking, their legs jittering for another quick fix. No matter how much the deranged governments of New York City have cleaned up the boroughs, they can’t rid us of our flavor. The Meatpacking District was scarily alive. Darkness laced with sizzling urban neon. Regret stitched up in the night like a black silk blanket. The High Line Park gloomed above me with trespassers and graffiti maestros. I was envious of their creative freedom, their passion, and their drive. They had to do what they were doing, had to create. There was just no other acceptable life than that. I was inside fast, my memories of Peter fleeting and the ache within me about to be cast off. Stage left, stage right, it didn’t matter. I passed the first check point with ease, as if they already knew the click of my heels, the way my protruding stomach curved through my lace cardigan. She found me, or I found her, and we didn’t exchange any words, any warnings. It was time. Face up, legs open, and this time I’d be flying like Superman, but upside down. There were many hands, many faces, but no

You are here because you are talented,” I said. “But that’s not enough. Between today and the time you walk between the brass anchors out front after graduation, you have to find the courage to release your talent into the world. Not everyone will appreciate the beauty flowing out of your hearts, and that will hurt, but it’s also okay. You don’t need or want everyone’s acceptance or approval. You will be appreciated by the ones who matter most—the ones who will find something captivating and profound in your work. If you stay true to what you’ve been given to do, you will have lived well. I came here an unknown teacher. Today I am known by a few . . . by you. That is how I define success. You aren’t just enough, you are more than enough to keep my heart full and my creative juices flowing. I love you all dearly. I am grateful you are my students—the students of my heart.

Hecate is the guardian of the crossroads of our unconscious, the hidden part of our psyches which is the source of our creativity, growth and healing. Sometimes gaining wisdom requires a descent into the underworld of our subconscious where inspiration and vision, the creative juices of renewal, are often found. Because Western culture emphasizes action and productivity, it frequently devalues those times of deep introspection. We have been conditioned to experience them as being stuck, in limbo, or as being depressed. In reality these spaces of non-activity may be part of the journey to revitalization. Hecate, if invited, acts as our guide in this deep inner work.

Many of us are driven to write through experiences born from pain, generating a need to uniquely express our own inner turmoil. Light-hearted inspiration is certainly an enviable reason to tap into one’s creative juices, but those feelings don’t stimulate the kinds of thoughts that lodge within me and grow in complexity. I can pinpoint a tragic, life-changing event occurring in my mid-teens that transformed me into a writer, and it seems that the weightier side of life continues to be my motivation.

To write with truth, I’ve been known to slow dance my words over graves of buried prayers, to drink my words under the shadow of my grandfather’s whiskey bottles, to lift my words from under the gaze of my daddy’s gentle eyes. I’ve had to write from the seeding syllables of my gardens, from the ammunition of my ancestors’ battlegrounds, and from the misery of my families’ tattered Bibles. I’ve pulled stories from the soil of my homeplace, from the juice stains of freshly-picked blackberries, and from the bottom of my bare feet. I write with the barbed-wire nouns and plural verbs of my mistakes, with the cast iron consonants and silent sugary vowels of my mother’s kitchen. But in the end, the only thing that matters is that I write.

The biggest tech companies in the world are always trying to figure out how to juice people.

And then there are fiction writers. Historians of psychic phenomena are fortunate to have a particularly rich record of precognitive experiences in the lives of writers. This is partly a natural file-drawer effect: Reports of anomalous experiences in the lives of athletes and soldiers, for example, would be relatively rare simply because sports and combat do not leave as rich a paper trail as writing. But additionally, because writing is (for some writers at least) precisely an enjoyable flow activity that engages an individual’s intuitive and creative juices, the very act of recording ideas and inspirations may induce an “altered state” conducive to channeling information from a writer’s future.39 It is like attaching a printer directly to the phenomenon of interest. In memoirs and interviews, writers often describe their creative frenzies as a kind of trance in which ideas come unbidden; some report feeling that the thoughts of some other entity or higher self are being transcribed or channeled. In the last part of this book, we will examine two writer-precogs, Morgan Robertson and Philip K. Dick, who both described feeling possessed by a feminine muse when they wrote. Is “inspiration”—which originally meant possession by a divine spirit—simply a psychologically neutral term for drawing precognitively or presentimentally on a writer’s own future?

By late 1980 Julian began to feel that there was a genuine breakthrough in his relationship with his father. John was at last making a new album, Double Fantasy. He began to call Julian more often. It was as though, with his creative juices flowing, he had woken up and realised his son needed him.

I get long winded over the internet because I've been stretching my writing muscles much more consistently lately and its not something that you can turn off and on, like a faucet. Creative juices are more like a toilet that's overflowing on your shoes when you don't have the time and clogged when you really need it to use it.

Her voice wobbled, and he knew tears were a moment away. "I want it to be so amazing that no one even tries to figure out what the scars are." Trent reached over the counter and grabbed a tissue box, putting it next to her. A full-back piece, his favorite kind of tattoo. Nothing too concrete from the client, meaning he could just let his creative juices flow. That was the sweet spot where he did his best work. "It just so happens that amazing tattoos are my specialty, so no worries there." -Trent & Harper

Writer’s block is as a depression in the earth. Like a river that flows into this depression for a time of rest and tranquility, eventually filling to continue its journey from the lower end of its shore line, so too shall your creative juices flow again.

The purpose of the Sisterhood of Librarians is to keep the secret of creative juice and keep the idea of libraries alive.

Jobs was convinced that his vegan diet would eliminate body odor, so he passed on the deodorant and skimped on baths. No matter how much his associates told him that he stunk, he never seemed convinced. According to associate Mike Markkula, "We would have to literally put him out the door and tell him to go take a shower."8 So it's no shock that when a routine kidney screening found a highly treatable, slow-growing type of pancreatic cancer at a very early stage, Jobs ignored his doctor's advice and the advice of many wise and concerned associates. Removing the tumor was the obvious and only accepted medical option, but to the horror of his wife Laurene and their friends, he decided to delay treatment and try a hodgepodge of unproven herbal remedies, juice fasts, acupuncture, etc. While Jobs chose to believe what he wanted to believe, the cancer continued to grow. Nine months later he would relent to have surgery; but by then it had spread to the liver. It took his life at 56 years of age.9

Warm-Up: The Silly Cow Exercise To get your team’s creative juices flowing, it can be helpful to start an ideation session with a warm-up such as the Silly Cow exercise.

To help get your creative juices flowing, you might look online at lists of the "best taglines ever." Their branding ideas are genius and may be just the catalyst you need to activate your awesome!

It's the opening line of a football game returned for a touchdown. Or fumbled. It's what orange juice is to breakfast, the first minutes of a blind date, a salesman's opening remarks. It sets the tone, lights the stage, greases the skids for everything to follow. It's the most important part of everything you'll ever write because if it doesn't work, whatever follows won't matter. It won't get read. It's your opening paragraph. And enough can't be said about its importance. Seduction. That's basically what leads are all about--enticing the reader across the threshold of your book, novel or article--because nothing happens until you get 'em inside. And you literally have only seconds to do it because surveys show that eight out of ten people quit reading whatever it is they've started after the first fifty words.

Words are powerful, so add visually descriptive adjectives to the story. For example, if you're talking about a fruit you had for lunch, you could say, "Today I had the most delicious strawberries. As I bit into one, I could feel the juices squirting out," or

When it was defined in the past, melancholy was used to describe people who were creative, resourceful, self-reliant, and only really cracked out the worry-juice when faced with a situation in which someone might get hurt or disappointed. Their main hobby? Trying to solve the problem of evil within the world. Sub-hobby? Perfectionism.

There was nothing quite like trauma to stir the creative juices.

We all deserve to feel this way. Each of us is here for a reason, to learn and grow and to give our gifts. When we are able to do so, we’re filled with the creative life energy that I call the “juice.” The juice is our reason for living. It’s our fulfillment, our joy. It’s what happens when life is activated by love. It’s the energy we get from the things that matter and mean something to us. It’s what my parents got from their work with underserved populations, and it’s the first secret I share with you: You are here for a reason. Each of us is here to connect with our unique gifts; this is what activates our desire to be alive.

Got to keep the creative juices flowing!

You've got to let your creative juices flow without worrying about how it’ll be received by others.

I choose not to believe in writer’s block. There’s always something you can write. If my creative juices are spent by mid-morn, I can ‘change channels’ and rewrite, or freewrite, or write monologues for my minor characters.

When you feel stuck in your creative pursuits, it doesn’t mean that there’s something wrong with you. You haven’t lost your touch or run out of creative juice. It just means you don’t yet have enough raw material to work with. If it feels like the well of inspiration has run dry, it’s because you need a deeper well full of examples, illustrations, stories, statistics, diagrams, analogies, metaphors, photos, mindmaps, conversation notes, quotes—anything that will help you argue for your perspective or fight for a cause you believe in.

Tapas is any practice that pushes the mind against its own limits, and the key ingredient of tapas is endurance. Thus in the archaic Rig-Veda (10.136), the long-haired ascetic or keshin is said to “endure” the world, to “endure” fire, and to “endure” poison.1 The keshin is a type of renouncer, a proto-yogin, who is a “wind-girt” (naked?) companion of the wild God Rudra (Howler). He is said to “ascend” the wind in a God-intoxicated state and to fly through space, looking down upon all things. But the name keshin harbors a deeper meaning, for it also can refer to the Sun whose “long hair” is made up of the countless rays that emanate from the solar orb and reach far into the cosmos and bestow life on Earth. This is again a reminder that the archaic Yoga of the Vedas revolves around the Solar Spirit, who selflessly feeds all beings with his/her/its compassionate warmth. The early name for the yogin is tapasvin, the practitioner of tapas or voluntary self-challenge. The tapasvin lives always at the edge. He deliberately challenges his body and mind, applying formidable will power to whatever practice he vows to undertake. He may choose to stand stock-still under India’s hot sun for hours on end, surrounded by a wall of heat from four fires lit close by. Or he may resolve to sit naked in solitary meditation on a windswept mountain peak in below-zero temperatures. Or he may opt to incessantly chant a divine name, forfeiting sleep for a specified number of days. The possibilities for tapas are endless. Tapas begins with temporarily or permanently denying ourselves a particular desire—having a satisfying cup of coffee, piece of chocolate, or casual sex. Instead of instant gratification, we choose postponement. Then, gradually, postponement can be stepped up to become complete renunciation of a desire. This kind of challenge to our habit patterns causes a certain degree of frustration in us. We begin to “stew in our own juices,” and this generates psychic energy that can be used to power the process of self-transformation. As we become increasingly able to gain control over our impulses, we experience the delight behind creative self-frustration. We see that we are growing and that self-denial need not necessarily be negative.

Tapas is any practice that pushes the mind against its own limits, and the key ingredient of tapas is endurance. Thus in the archaic Rig-Veda (10.136), the long-haired ascetic or keshin is said to “endure” the world, to “endure” fire, and to “endure” poison.1 The keshin is a type of renouncer, a proto-yogin, who is a “wind-girt” (naked?) companion of the wild God Rudra (Howler). He is said to “ascend” the wind in a God-intoxicated state and to fly through space, looking down upon all things. But the name keshin harbors a deeper meaning, for it also can refer to the Sun whose “long hair” is made up of the countless rays that emanate from the solar orb and reach far into the cosmos and bestow life on Earth. This is again a reminder that the archaic Yoga of the Vedas revolves around the Solar Spirit, who selflessly feeds all beings with his/her/its compassionate warmth. The early name for the yogin is tapasvin, the practitioner of tapas or voluntary self-challenge. The tapasvin lives always at the edge. He deliberately challenges his body and mind, applying formidable will power to whatever practice he vows to undertake. He may choose to stand stock-still under India’s hot sun for hours on end, surrounded by a wall of heat from four fires lit close by. Or he may resolve to sit naked in solitary meditation on a windswept mountain peak in below-zero temperatures. Or he may opt to incessantly chant a divine name, forfeiting sleep for a specified number of days. The possibilities for tapas are endless. Tapas begins with temporarily or permanently denying ourselves a particular desire—having a satisfying cup of coffee, piece of chocolate, or casual sex. Instead of instant gratification, we choose postponement. Then, gradually, postponement can be stepped up to become complete renunciation of a desire. This kind of challenge to our habit patterns causes a certain degree of frustration in us. We begin to “stew in our own juices,” and this generates psychic energy that can be used to power the process of self-transformation. As we become increasingly able to gain control over our impulses, we experience the delight behind creative self-frustration. We see that we are growing and that self-denial need not necessarily be negative. The Bhagavad-Gītā (17.14–16) speaks of three kinds of austerity or tapas: Austerity of body, speech, and mind. Austerity of the body includes purity, rectitude, chastity, nonharming, and making offerings to higher beings, sages, brahmins (the custodians of the spiritual legacy of India), and honored teachers. Austerity of speech encompasses speaking kind, truthful, and beneficial words that give no offense, as well as the regular practice of recitation (svādhyāya) of the sacred lore. Austerity of the mind consists of serenity, gentleness, silence, self-restraint, and pure emotions.

Failure to manage our thoughts means we end up with hundreds of invisible energy vampires storming around us all day, sucking out our creative juices and depleting our life force.

As I approach my golden years, I find that the creative juices still flow bountifully. I’ve got enough album concepts and ideas to take me years down the road, and as long as God gives me the strength, I’ll be writing and recording new music.

That is often how collaboration works in a Slow Fix. Check your ego at the door, be prepared to share the credit, and let the creative juices start flowing. That was how Monty Python minted some of the most famous sketches in the comedy canon. One member of the troupe, John Cleese, summed up the genesis thus: “The really good idea is always traceable back quite a long way, often to a not very good idea which sparked off another idea that was only slightly better, which somebody else misunderstood in such a way that they then said something which was really rather interesting.

I have loved and never told him. I have loved and told him and got hurt. I have been loved and I haven’t loved back. I have loved and he has loved and then I have changed my mind. I have been single and wanted to love. I have been fearful and fearless. Doubtful and trusting. Ecstatic and devastated. I have been an eat-macaroni-and-cheese-from-a-box kind of eater. I have been vegetarian. Vegan. Gluten-free. Not gluten-free. Raw foodist. Vegan, but not raw. I have been a vegan who eats eggs. And then doesn’t eat eggs. I have been a juice faster. And a rejector of juice fasts. I have said I eat healthy. And then I have said I eat whatever the f*ck I want and it’s none of your business. (That last one’s been the best.) I have been a gymnast. A runner. A dancer. I have been injured and forgot what I was anymore. I have been a walker. A yogi. A Pilates aficionado. A trampoline jumper. A push-up-doer. I have rested. I have said I am one thing and, it turns out, I am not. Or that I was that thing, but that thing isn’t true for me any longer. This is okay. It’s all okay.

Celebrating your event with style and creativity Everyone works on a budget. Not all of us have the resources and time to hire wedding planners and party organizers to celebrate important days of your lives. You don’t have to skimp on an anniversary, birthday, engagement or any other special days just because you are on a budget. There are several DIY party ideas and accessories available on the internet that will help you celebrate that special occasion with much gusto and style. Celebrating a special day- be it your own wedding, engagement, throwing the best birthday bash, or a theme party, it is rather a challenging and exciting time, that churns up your creative juices that can leave one exhausted and confused. Especially when one desires to be innovative and wishes to throw a party that leaves the guests spell bounded and the-talk-of-the-town, there are several websites that provide amazing Party Loot Bags and accessories that are affordable and unique. Since we often think of the celebration as synonymous with splurging, these special occasions can feel challenged. After all, it's hard to enjoy yourself when all you can think about is the amount of money a party or wedding planner is charging you. This is your cue to be innovative as there are various fun and exciting DIY Party Accessories and Dessert buffets that can make your event memorable without spending too much of your hard earned money. With DIY ideas, you can enjoy 99 percent of excitement and 1 percent anxiety. There are a myriad of delightful Wedding Bomboniere ideas and items that can be easily procured through online stores. With ease and convenience, you can order Bomboniere Australia and party accessories from the comforts of your home and shop for the best quality products online. Web sites now cater for DIY items that style up any event- from weddings, engagements, christening, baby showers, birthdays, and much more. These companies offer a plethora of crazy, fun, unique and creative ideas and DIY items that are affordable, convenient, and highly accessible, promising a grand celebration of your special day. If you wish to have your rein on the planning and organizing of your wedding, you can explore some great ideas and accessories through these websites that are run by creative individuals assuring an enriching experience. Browse through great DIY Dessert Buffets and loot bags, and choose from hundreds of incredible ideas and accessories to celebrate your day with glamour, style, and charm. Make a lasting impression on your guests through DIY Party Accessories and buffet packages. There are many services on the internet that guide you through the entire event and help you plan your dream wedding in the most efficient and creative manner.

#writetip / #writingtip — If you don’t have time to take a workshop, trying using these tags to learn more about your craft. #writing / #editing – These terms are also used, but aren’t nearly as popular as #amwriting and #amediting. #writingblitz – This one is used to let your followers know that today you are writing as fast as you can and locking your internal editor into a closet. #writingfiction – Fiction writers use this hashtag to meet each other or to share their books, goals, or ideas on writing fiction. #writingprompt — Is it hard to get started on the next chapter of your novel? Well, worry no more. Log on to Twitter, search for this tag, and you’ll find a great prompt to get those creative juices bubbling. #ww / #writerwednesday – Is there a writer you would like to introduce to your followers? Use this hashtag and introduce your colleague to your Twitter tribe.

Igor Stravinsky said that “the more constraints one imposes, the more one frees oneself.” I’d come across the quote years before, but I only now got it. When water is confined in a narrow space like a tube or a ravine, it will rush forward with power; when it has infinite room to expand, it becomes a puddle. The same thing happens with our creative juices. If I had had perfect control over my

The composition of the team itself is another task that falls to the leader. The principle here is diversity—not in the sense of affirmative action, though a range of ethnic and social backgrounds can certainly be useful. The more important kind of diversity is intellectual, to draw in people with different ways of thinking. This needs to be done strategically. Throwing a bunch of people from different backgrounds into a room and calling it diversity misses the point, which is to bring varying kinds of expertise to bear that are related to the problem at hand. The team that reinvented Febreze started with just five people; in a video explaining their experience, they described themselves this way: an artist, an archaeologist, a scientist, a philosopher, and the head honcho. All were acknowledged experts in their fields; they brought a self-confidence and mutual respect to the endeavor that allowed the creative juices to flow.

But who begat you is a question with an answer only someone else can tell you. You’re born, and when you’re old enough to understand, they tell you whose child you are. You get claimed. That’s when you’re born again into something—not the world, but the word, the family name. It’s the most important thing about you, whose you are. It’s more important than your race or religion. It’s more important than what shows you like. It’s the part of you that talks to itself so late at night that you’re not even sure you’re awake. It’s the concentrated you, collected in a pool of genetic fluids, creative juice, carbonic goo, passions, past mistakes, memories of other people, opinions about sweets, the intense desire to visit Italy, habits, the smell of your fart—all together in a thick maple syrup of your human situation. Your blood. That’s you. The truest thing about you.